


Daddy's Girl

by 1800areyouslapping



Series: Commissions [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Dubious Use of Tenticles, F/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 14:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16088123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1800areyouslapping/pseuds/1800areyouslapping
Summary: A commission for Anonymous ♡♡♡♡♡ You’re the stepdaughter of Reaper. You used to know him as Gabriel Reyes, the man your mom fell in love with. But life happened. Now he’s the Reaper, and he doesn’t like the way you dress.





	Daddy's Girl

Reluctance weighted down your feet as Reaper dragged you away from the conversation you were having with a Talon superior. An in-depth discussion of upcoming mission specifics would have to wait; it wasn’t in your best interest to protest. No matter how much your stomach twisted at the feeling of his clawed hand curled around your arm, his gruff voice in your ear stating that he needed to have a few words with you.

His disembodied voice gave you violent body shaking chills. For a man so big both in stature and in muscle, with his heavy boots, and being a man who uses the loudest weapons, Reaper sure could be dead quiet when he wanted to be. You hadn’t seen him coming, and neither had your superior.    

The superior had teased in a whisper, “Dad’s mad, huh?” and you glared back at him for the comment. Not only because you knew that he was, in fact, mad (mad about what you weren’t sure at the time), but because you hated thinking of him that way. There may have been a point where you were happy, even loved having him as a stepfather. But that was a long time ago. When Overwatch was still intact, and he was an entirely different person.

Your mother, and the man formally known as Gabriel Reyes, fell in love during the omnic war; fell out of love when she managed to follow him into Talon. She turned into an entirely different person, and so did he. You did too; though you liked to think of it as adapting. You, you were left to fend for yourself and find your own way. Once in Talon, it’s hard to leave; it’s not a job one can just… put in a two weeks notice for.

Once he had you insolated in his plain dark room, smooth, bare walls, and simple furniture, Reaper circled around you; a predator contemplating how he would be playing with his prey. You trembled like an isolated little rabbit being sized up by a wolf. You stared blankly at the floor, crossed your arms, waited impatiently for him to get on with it. He skimmed his razor sharp nails along your naked upper thighs, accused you bluntly, rudely of dressing like a slut. Of strutting around base silently begging for attention by wearing skirts so short.

You’d scoffed at him. As if he had any right to dictate what you wanted to wear. Besides, if Amélie can go around wearing tighter than skin-tight body suits (and she’s not the only Talon agent wearing sultry uniforms), then you’re allowed to indulge in short skirts. Reaper begged to differ. Reaper growled as he moved in closer to you. Haunting mask, and fuzzy memories of what he used to look like behind it, right before your eyes. He grabbed a hold of your wrist and yanked you across the room, down with him into a chair, and tossed you over his knee.

“You’re in need of a punishment,” he said with grit and gravel. “You turned out this way ‘cause of me, I was never harsh enough with you.”

At first, you thought that surely he couldn’t be serious; a small voice in the back of your mind agreed with him. It  _was_  his fault. Regardless of that small voice, an even louder, insistent and rash one disagreed. He said he had to “punish” you. What the hell for?

“I’m not a fucking child,” you complained. You wriggled around and reached back to hit him. “Let me go!”

He held you roughly by your neck, weaved his gloved fingers into your hair and held you down. Tendrils of smoke wrapped around your ankles. You heard them before you felt them. Fluttering through the air like a flag in the wind. Your legs kicked, trying to build up momentum, enough to propel yourself off his lap. He tamed them, kept them still. No amount of struggling was going to get you out of the bind that you had found yourself in.

“Make this easy for yourself, Sweetheart,” he said. “Take your lesson learned like a good girl.”

Pointed metal nails dug into your skull; he meant business. His strength was far too much for you to fight. If you struggled anymore, he was sure to hurt you in order to keep you still. So regardless of how humiliating it felt to have Reaper ripping your underwear from your hips with ease, you let it happen. He was a ruthless killer, and if you had truly offended him with your choice of clothes, then it was best to let him do whatever he needed to to get you off his radar, and onto the next thing that needed his attention like he felt you needed his.

You took the spanking with gritted teeth. Five swats for every time he caught you wearing something whorish. Reaper demanded you count each one; when you weren’t loud enough he’d yank on your hair to let you know your volume was unsatisfactory.

“Why am I punishing you?” he asked. 

You didn’t understand the need to ask such a question but you answered anyway, “For wearing a short skirt,” you muttered. 

Reaper spanked you with sharp and fast vigor that time, unsatisfied with your answer. You yelped, high pitched, and he shooshed you. “Not specific enough, Young Lady.”

Your lip trembled as you realized what he wanted to hear. “For being a slut,” you said.

“Good girl, “ he said with another air whistling slap. 

After spank number “forty-two,” you said with a low pained grunt, and tears rolling down your cheeks. The throbbing pain, the intense heat radiating from your abused cheeks had you begging him to let you know what number you’d be counting to. Even if the pain wasn’t the worst of it; the worst of it was your grunts that sounded like pleasured moans, because they were. It was the heat that not only encapsulated your backside, it was running through your whole body. Your punishment was turning you on. With your arched back, there was no doubt he could see your arousal glistening over your folds.

“Fifty’s the magic number, Baby Girl.” 

Cruelly, he dragged out the last eight spanks. Reaper spanked your ass, paused to grope rudely and squeeze the afflicted cheek. The feeling made you writhe in his lap, your hips lift and roll to try and detach from the pressure. Your skin so inflamed, each squeeze flowered sharp pinpricks and needles under your skin. Really drove home how terribly swollen you were.

“Fifty!” you cried out when the last leather-stinging hit collided with your ass. You tried then to get up, but he still wouldn’t let you. He dug his nails into your head, shoved your head back down. Let you know he wasn’t nearly done, and you were a very stupid girl for thinking that that was going to be something as simple as a spanking. 

Suddenly his bare fingers were prodding your cunt, making you face just how much the beating had turned you on. “Filthy, Girl,” he stated, spread your slick lips apart, applied pressure along your labia, teased your swollen clit with light circles. “Disgusting… you dripped onto my pants.”

“Please let me go,” you begged. “No more short skirts.” At least not when he was on base. “I’ve learned my lesson.” 

“But I like your short skirts,” he said. Instantly contradicted every single hit that you had endured. “And you were so good for me,” he sunk two fingers right between your lips and into your pussy, “I’d be a terrible a daddy if I didn’t reward you, now wouldn’t I?” 

You stopped arguing. Realized that he was just toying with you, using excuses and false promises of freedom in order to get you in the position that he had wanted to have you in for a while now. It may have been the denial that kept you believing that he hadn’t started looking at you like that. You thought it was just the general hostility that came with what he turned into, coupled with the authority left over from whenhe usedtorightfully have it over you. You told yourself he wasn’t watching you, not like that. Not from across rooms. Not fuming and looming in corners with the possessiveness of a man who had lust driving his motivations and actions, but he was.  

Reaper wasn’t a man of patience. He wanted you coming undone, clamping down on his fingers. What were slow, deep-reaching strokes quickly turned into thrusts so fast and so hard, it giggled your ass. You whined, cried. Too loud for his liking, so a thick tendril wafted and forced it’s way into your mouth, prodded at the back of your throat and kept your keening muffled. Unable to voice your frustrations, you clawed at his pants as the pressure started to well, writhed in his lap more than you ever were during the brutal spanking.  

“You want this,” he growled. “You’re soaking, just listen to yourself.” 

You did listen to yourself, you had no other choice. The room was dead silent. No fans, no air conditioning. No murmurs from the people outside. It was just you and your shame seeping out of your sex, creating the lewdest squelching sounds and wet slaps. It was just your strangled crying that bled into gurgled moans as you came again and again.

He pulled the tendril from your mouth, spit trailed along after it. You coughed and breathed in ragged and labored. “Did I make you feel good, slut?” he asked as he picked you up and threw you down to the ground. 

You landed with a thud and an  _oof_. You buried your face into the crook of your shaky arm and sobbed, “ _Yes_.”

“Do you want more, slut?”

You nodded. You did want more. Your pussy pulsated with want. The orgasms, his fingers, didn’t feel like enough. He dropped down to his knees and draped himself over your back. A giant mass of heavy leather clad heat. Reaper’s mask pressed to the side of your cheek, near frigid with cold compared to the rest of him. He hummed, pleased as he reached down and clamped your legs together tightly. His metal belt buckle jingled. A moment later he shoved his thick cock between your dewy clamped thighs.

“Beg for my cock, say something nice about it and I’ll give it to you,” Reaper growled just next to your ear.

He rutted between your thighs. Sliding, thrusting. It slipped between your pussy lips spread them wide, just barely nudged against your aching hole. You were soaking wet. Wet enough to raise heightened heat in your cheeks. So shamed knowing it was his harsh hand, giving an adolescent punishment, that stirred up the heat that melted your core and caused slick to pool from your body.

You reached underneath yourself, of your own volition and touched it. Cupped the head, precum wet your palm. “It’s thick and heavy,” you said.

“What else?” he demanded.  

“It’s so fucking hot and big,” you said desperately. “I don’t think it’ll fit, it feels so big.” 

He let out a villainous chuckle, clamped a hand down on your open mouth and positioned his cock at your entrance. “It’ll fit,” he crooned. “You’re so wet you could take anything, Baby Girl.”

You expected a quick, painful, and searing rough thrust into your body, but what you received was something slow but just as agonizing. He pushed into you, gradually stretching you open. You moaned like the whore that Reaper believed you were. It felt so good, the careful stretch and fill. He fed you more and more of his cock until he had no more to give you. The tip nudged and pressured your womb. You arched your back into him without any thought behind it, just doing what came naturally. 

“If you want it so bad,” he gruffed, growled as he rolled his hips against your ass, “then spear yourself on it, Little Slut, show me how much you want Daddy’s cock.”

You didn’t bother acting like you didn’t want to. With no hesitation, you slammed your hips back into him. Dragged your velvet along his hard veiny member and then all the way back down to the hilt again. He growled and grunted in your ear, echoed within the confines of his mask. Even his breath was labored. You felt surprisingly smug about it. Loved hearing just how good you felt hugging and milking his cock. His animalistic sounds gave you pangs of pleasure that resounded in your chest and warmed your core to new heights.

Suddenly he demanded, “Stop.” 

He pulled all the way out of you. Left you feeling empty and needy. You hated him a little bit for it; the ability to take you from a girl who was so adverse and disgusted by the monster he had become, wholly disinterested in him, to one who was painfully arching her back, silently begging for him to give his cock back to you, and you’d do whatever he wanted. You’d let him degrade and shame you into the dirt in order to have it.  

It was like he could sense how badly you wanted it. He sat back, took his time stroking his cream-covered cock in his fist, spread your cheeks apart and watched your hole clench. Hummed at the clear fluids that leaked out from deep within your soft, red velvet. He slipped a talon into you and fear seized up your muscles causing you to go still as a statue. The metal was as cold and jarring as his mask, and much, much scarier with it sharpness threatening harm to your delicate walls.

“I’m going to make you scream now.” Reaper pulled the talon from you and resumed his previous position at your back with his hand secured over your mouth. He dragged his nails across your hip. Tore skin. Before he painfully griped your hip in his hand. The talons leaving fire in their wake. He said, “I’m going to use your cunt, and you’re going to lay there and take it.”

That was when he gave you what you thought he was going to give the first time. A rough thrust; a full sheath. Leather stung your cheeks, Reaper jammed against your cervix and stars littered your vision. Your sore body clamped tightly around him, your hands balled into fists, and you tried to brace yourself as best as you could. His cock tore through your overstimulated walls. He pulled all the way out, slammed back into your heat rougher each time. Each time warranted a choked scream, but nothing close to what he wanted to hear.

Your strained body was crying out for mercy and for more at the same time. His unrelenting, pistoning hips both hurt and pleasured you. The way he fucked was primal, desperate. Nothing but deep reverberating grunts at your back and cock reaching into your depths over and over again.

You did scream. Screamed when it truly started to become too much. You came again, and you would cum many more times by the time he hips finally ceased their motions. He was not only a super soldier but a monster, a creature of his own personal identity. All that experimentation did his body favors but turned him into the kind of deplorable, perverted man who’d manipulate and bully his stepdaughter into submitting her body to him.

It wasn’t right; not only was he still technically your stepfather, no matter how disconnected he was from your mother. He was The Reaper. A terrorist, world-renowned for his nightmarish deeds. What kind of person had you turned into? The kind of girl who’d enjoy getting fucked by her stepdaddy, knowing full well you were being bullied into it. You’d submitted and resigned so easily into being his little slut. And you were enjoying how mercilessly he used your body; it felt like your place was underneath him. You had stopped fighting before you had really tried to cry or fight back.

And at that moment your chest was heaving, tears rolled down your cheeks, nipples erect. You mind switched, raced with begging thoughts. Thoughts you couldn’t voice.  _God, stop; and please give me more; go deeper, harder._

He growled louder and slammed into you with the most vigor yet.Two tendrils of smoke wrapped around your ankles and ripped them apart from each other, he shoved your body flat onto the ground, pinned you there with one hand on your waist. He craned your head back, making you look to the ceiling, and kept his hand clamped over your gaped mouth. More tendrils snaked around your torso popping the buttons from your shirt, tore the fabric.

They didn’t stop until every piece of your clothes was ruined, shredded, and littered all around you. You were completely naked, breasts bouncing in time with his mean thrusts. Finally, his thrusts became erratic. He groaned loudly and then they stilled. He stayed inside you and spilled his seed. Even then he still wasn’t finished, even after his cock was done pulsing inside you. He bucked into you until his length softened. Only then did he pull out, his shaft dirty with cum and slick.

You laid there shaking. Breathless and speechless, exhausted wondering where exactly the two of you would be going from there. Your insides tingled, a mess of fluids seeped out between your legs. The scratches on your hip lightly bled, your ass was peppered black and blue.

Suddenly Reaper’s boots where just next to your face, black and still dirty from his last mission. A tendril of smoke slipped under your chin, tilted it up so you could see him looming over you. “You’re a daddy’s girl now, understand?”

You nodded, and it was no surprise that that wasn’t good enough. “Say it, “ he demanded.

“I’m a daddy’s girl.”


End file.
